


Stargazing

by Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drumming Song, F/M, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jotunn stuff, Jotunn stuff made them do it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-19 02:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20202358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship/pseuds/Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship
Summary: It began on the descent into Stockholm, a gently throbbing headache at the back of her skull.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You'll have to excuse any grammar weirdness. This is the first thing I've written in a very long time, and certainly the first thing I've written since being on my new medication which really messes with my words. This just really needed to get out. I hope I can write the rest of it.

It began on the descent into Stockholm, a gently throbbing headache at the back of her skull. So she rushes into the airport pharmacy and grabs the nearest packet of ibuprofen and bottle of water and quaffs down a few more than Darcy might approve of, but that’s okay. Darcy’s not here.

No, her erstwhile intern is back in New York completing her degree. Jane, on the otherhand, is on her way to the University of Tromso, on special invitation from Marie Johanssen who runs the Space Physics Masters programme, to discuss her work with the view to collaboration with full access to all the equipment at Tromso and neighbouring universities. Jane had booked the first flight out of Albuquerque, grabbed a few key hard drives and miscellaneous clothes, and gapped it to the airport.

She presses her head against the window of the plane as the seats around her fill. The drugs will quieten the reverberation in her head. The flight to Oslo is quick – no sooner had the plane reached cruise altitude it began its descent.

But her head still pulses. Her next flight, she realises rather belatedly, isn’t for another ten hours. She’s long since cleared international customs and is free to explore the city of Oslo. More importantly, she’s free to acquire some better kind of coffee than the traditional burnt airport coffee, or instant airplane coffee. So she ventures out into the wild world in search of sweet, sweet, caffeinated goodness.

It’s drums, she realises in the taxi, as stereo fades out. It’s an old, rawhide drum with leather-bound sticks, and each strike is atop her own head.

She’s not entirely sure how she got here, or where exactly here is. She knows her bag slips from her shoulder, she hears nothing but the drums. Her feet take her towards the open expanse of water before her, into it, despite the chill sinking into her bones, until her head is under and the water seeps into her ears, but still the drums, the drums, the drums. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to miraphora's kind words, the next chapter went much quicker!
> 
> Now I really must study and pack.

boom

Boom

BOOM

Silence but for her own heartbeat.

Hands slip beneath her armpits and the world returns to her in a cacophony of honks and screams and splutters. She doesn’t have time to blink the water from her eyes before she is entirely swaddled in something warm and held tightly. The world of sound leaves her once more, but there is still her heartbeat and breathing. The drums have gone.

The world doesn’t quite work right after that.

There’s hands on her face, achingly gentle, loving, _worshipping_, that trace patterns (and runes?) across her skin as a hungry mouth feasts upon her lips. She is warmed by the touch even as her clothing leaves her, even as her hands grasp at his skin and her own lips follow paths along his chin, down his neck, even as she feels his body arch into her and hears, feels the intoxicating noises coming from his throat.

They join, then, slowly, tenderly, his body covering hers, devouring her own little noises. Her world is defined only by his movements within her and his mouth wherever it should roam, from her lips, to her neck … to her breasts. Her orgasm trickles down her spine and rolls long and slow, catching her heart and her breath. She feels him shudder and spasm, arms tightening around her and head pressed into her neck.

The otherworldiness fades for a moment and she sees the soft forest of his eyes. He hardens within her and there is nothing but touch, taste, sensation, _release_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this before I've had a single coffee. My brain only wants to put one word down here in the authors notes:
> 
> Boobies.

Thumbs roll over her hip bones. Hands splay across her skin. She rides him, delighting in the sounds he makes as she rolls her hips just like _this_. She lies across his body, kissing whorls up his neck and to his lips as her orgasm flows down her spine and bursts. He finishes immediately after her, arms holding her to him and hips pumping until they judder and still.

The haze burns away. She blinks. Her fuddled mind takes some time to process the sight in front of her. It kicks in right as his moss-green eyes widen and she throws herself off him. She crashes to the floor, limbs flailing.

Loki sits up and stares at her, face ashen and shoulders hunched. “What did you _do_?” he hisses.

She glares up from her superior position of being sprawled on the floor, naked, his semen trickling down the inside of her leg … and evidence of much more than one coupling streaking her thighs. “What did _I do_?” she snaps back. “What did _you_ do? You’re the one with magic!” She scrambles to her hands and knees, searching for anything she can cover herself with. A large fur is dropped on her head and she squawks and wraps it around herself.

Loki stands before her now, transcendent in black and green and gold and she has never felt quite so insignificant before in her life.

And that just pisses her right the fuck off.

She stands up, fur dropping over a shoulder, and slaps him. The fur gapes. He stands, surprised, head and shoulders turned from the force of her strike. His smile is sly and vengeful as he tilts his head to face her. Until he looks down.

He stumbles back as if she’s punched him and disappears. His face is etched into her mind, frozen in a terrified rictus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a comment whore. Please comment. Especially if it is in capslock, and even if it is just an exclamation mark.
> 
> COMMENTS GIVE ME LIFE

Jane waits to see if he will return. Wraps the fur more tightly around herself. While she waits, she looks. She ignores the bed, rumpled in sheets and furs. A box fire burns in one corner of the cabin. There is a kitchenette with a cold box, a small dining table – _hands on her hips, wood digging into her thighs as he bends over her, tongue trailing sinful marks over her shoulders_ – and chairs. There is one light. One small chest of drawers.

A tiny cupboard near the kitchen proves to be the smallest bathroom she has ever seen. There is barely room for her to stand to shower, but she makes it work. She scrubs herself raw. The soap smells of the forest floor after rain.

She wraps herself back up in the fur as she exits. There are no towels that she can find. She opens the drawers. Nothing. She slams the chest into the wall and screams in frustration. “You could have at least given me something to _wear_!” she howls at the ceiling.

_Of course he’s listening_, she thinks as she finds herself fully clothed in an identical black and green and gold ensemble. She flips both middle fingers at the ceiling and storms to the door. Her first attempt to open it leads to no success. Her second attempt, after triple checking all the locks are unlocked, is a success. Her legs sink into snow and her nose burns with the cold. She hauls the fur up higher, so it covers her head and shoulders and wraps around her thighs.

There is nothing and no one, save the white snow and a small river.

She huffs steam and glares. “You couldn’t have picked a place closer to civilisation?” she snarls, and sets off.

If there is one thing Jane knows, and Jane admittedly knows quite a lot, it is that when you are lost, you follow the river as it flows. Civilisation exists around rivers. So she does. She holds the fur closed around her and follows the water as it spills over stones and ice.

Her legs continue to carry her long past her brain’s ability to go on. She fades back in to the sound of dogs yipping and blinks at the octagonal building before her. Buildings. She stumbles to the first one, a river of fur surrounding her, and knocks on the door.

It’s opened by what can only be an English tourist, confused and concerned. She doesn’t hear him pull her into the warmth and stuff her into a chair in front of the fire. A woman – his wife? – pulls off her boots and pants and top, wraps her more tightly in the fur, and begins to rub her feet. The man comes back moments later, his mouth making sounds she cannot interpret, but his hands are warm on hers as he rubs life back into them.

People in bright colours crowd over her, lips moving and distant murmuring. She is lifted onto a stretcher. Her fingers clutch the fur, and they wrap her in it and tie her down, covering her body and head for transport. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I move house and y'all don't hear from me for a week.

The reassuring beep of a heart monitor drags her into consciousness. The artificial clean stench of a hospital. Her body aches. She lies there. People come and go. Things are checked. She sleeps.

Her eyes eventually open to a nurse noting things down. The nurse smiles at her. “It’s good to see you awake,” he says. “I’ll just go get the doctor.” She blinks and a woman in a white coat stands at her bedside.

“Hello,” the doctor says. “My name is Cherie Lochlanssen, and I am your doctor.” Jane nods, not quite trusting her voice. “Do you know your name?” she asks.

“Jane,” she croaks, coughs. A glass of water with a straw is offered to her immediately, and she sips. “Jane Foster.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jane Foster,” Doctor Lochlanssen says. “Do you know what happened to you?”

“I-“ _kissing her as if she were the only thing that mattered – cooking warming foods – wrapping himself around her in front of the fire as the storm raged outside – her back arching into him as he thrust into her, spread out on the furs in front of the hearth, nothing in the world but them_ “-no, I don’t.” The good Doctor gives her a glance but doesn’t press.

“Okay, I would like to discuss your condition now,” Doctor Lochlanssen says. She sits down on the chair beside Jane. “You had a mixture of stage one and two frostbite on all of your distal phalanges, which have all since resolved. You had mild dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. We addressed this with intravenous fluids. We ran some bloods and an ultrasound to determine the foetus is in excellent health and at the optimal size for four months.”

“What,” Jane says. Doctor Lochlanssen blinks.

“Your baby is healthy,” she says.

“What baby.”

“You’re pregnant,” Doctor Lochlanssen’s eyebrows rise.

“I’m not fucking _pregnant_,” Jane hisses, hands flying to her stomach. Her heart skips a sickening beat.

“You didn’t now?” Doctor Lochlanssen enquires. Jane ignores her, hands pressed against the impossibility of a bump. Her flat stomach – flat not because she exercises, but rather because her diet consists of coffee, poptarts, and frantic energy – is well and truly rounded. She’s pretty sure it’s not a food baby, either.

It kicks. She wants to throw up.

“I didn’t,” Jane replies quietly.

“I’m sorry. Who can I call to come in?”

“Erik Selvig. He’ll be in New York. Or Darcy Lewis – I can give you their numbers, they’re in my cellphone –“

“I’m sorry, Jane, you weren’t found with a cellphone on you.”

She lies back and squeezes her eyes shut against the rising panic. She was never any good with phone numbers. Atomic molecular mass, Avogadro’s number, the speed of light, the data from her latest research, not a problem. But a piddly phone number was out of the question.

“Tony Stark. Call Tony Stark,” she says. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be doing something about calculating stuff for testing a herd for all sorts of things.
> 
> But here, have a chapter.

It begins the moment his fingers separate from the sceptre. The drums.

It takes him a while to figure it out, as he falls, and falls, and falls. It pulses in time to his heart. Or perhaps his heart beats in time with the drum. It’s hard to tell. Sometimes it fades and he can hear the not-air whistling past his ears. Other times it is all encompassing, every nerve in his body firing with it. It’s not quite pain, not quite pleasure.

He seeks the origin. He can … ‘nudge’ himself this way and that in his descent through everything and nothing. He turns his head this way and that, locating the imperceptible increase of booming in his skull, and angles himself towards that.

He _must_ find it.

Eternity passes him by in depths of black and white and colours never imagined, never seen before, nor since. He is blind to it.

It releases him, whatever ‘it’ is, onto dirt and forest and water and _humanity_ and it’s there, the source of this all, the intoxicating sensation crawling up his spine, emptying his head of all but _this_. It’s in there. His hands search. It’s becoming quiet. He can hear the pandemonium of humanity seeping into his ears.

He finds her and the world becomes nothingness.


End file.
